thatnight.net

Today’s weather is the epitome of what I regard as typical Pittsburgh. The ground is wet even though it’s not exactly raining. The temperature’s approaching 60º with no sign of sunshine. It’ll probably snow within the next 48 hours, which gives my mother plenty of time to kick on the air conditioner, and myself at least a day’s opportunity to forgo footwear.

Most of the neighborhoods smell like spring and fresh rain, save for the occasional whiff of garbage and sweat, usually stemming from public transportation and the collective locker rooms of Oakland (no more than a short breeze away at any given moment).

After moving last November, I’ve fallen in love with my little part of the city, and almost said so on Twitter. I began listing the names of the other neighborhoods I’ve lived in, in order to conclude that the current place is my favorite, and soon realized that I wouldn’t be able to fit all of them in one tweet. And so I tried to identify a few of the reasons I loved the new community, like how it’s close to all of my other favorite places, and how even though there’s some significant space between my house and town, I can still see the skyline from my bedroom window. But, like many topics, I realized this theme wasn’t cut out for 140 characters or less.

I was recently told that if something couldn’t be said in 140 characters or less, it’s frivolous. So much for show don’t tell. Good thing I majored in creative writing. THERE GOES FIVE YEARS OF COLLEGE.

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My mind has been in a hundred places at once lately and I realized it most clearly last night when, as I was getting into my car, my left hand still holding on outside to the top of the frame, I used my right hand to reach over, grab the door’s handle, and slam it shut. Luckily, I became aware at the last second that part of my body had yet to fully make it inside, and instead of maybe using a knee or the demented right hand to interrupt the accelerating door from trapping most of my fingers, my first instinct was to quickly make a fist, which was a great choice, as I clearly prefer having two sets of knuckles smashed simultaneously.

It really was the perfect end to my weekend, which was packed full of work, grouchiness, and, most importantly, recognition that the next several days were going to be spent evading grievances centered around the upcoming holiday.

I honestly forgot about Valentine’s Day until late last week, when a radio DJ started going off about HALLMARK HOLIDAYS! and STUPID GIRLS! and IT SUCKS AND IS LAME! and let me tell you, I don’t know what I’m more sick of, Valentine’s Day, or people complaining about Valentine’s Day.

They should create a holiday based solely around people who hate Valentine’s Day, and everyone can get together and send each other someecards and forget the fact that most people have been hating some form of Valentine’s Day for hundreds of years. And then angry lovers who love things that are lovey can get on the radio, or log into Wordpress, or approach you at the water cooler and say, over and over, “You know, I’m happily married, and I think this dumb holiday was created by greeting card companies to profit off of people who like to bitch.”

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